


Blink Back to Let Me Know

by champagne_enema



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Fluff, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nonbinary Pidge | Katie Holt, Pining Lance (Voltron), mechanic hunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 05:25:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14129052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/champagne_enema/pseuds/champagne_enema
Summary: Lance sighs wistfully as Hunk crouches down, powerfully thick calves corded with muscle on showcase. He should be ashamed at the fact that he's openly ogling his mechanic, but he can't resist temptation. He's Adam, craving for the forbidden fruit, yearning for a bite of the succulent apple, juicy, liquid dribbling down his chin in triumph.Or, Lance's car breaks down and his mechanic is one hot dude. Thirsting ensues.





	Blink Back to Let Me Know

**Author's Note:**

> not really in a writing mood, but this was in my drafts so I figured I'd post,, plus hance deserves more love,,,,, I might continue this if I get inspired, who knows ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> un-beta'd and barely edited so sorry bout that
> 
> title from Always by Panic! at the Disco

Lance's car breaks down, splutters to a slow stop, and he knows he's got to get it fixed.  
  
He's been _dreading_ this, avoiding the reality that his car needed to go in the shop. The damn thing had been running slow and sputtering for the past week. He knew he had to get it fixed , but that was future Lance's problem, right?  
  
_Well, Lance, you're a fucking idiot and you've played yourself. The future is here, so get your ass to a mechanic so you can go to class tomorrow._  
  
He asks his dad who he should take it to, also asks about insurance because the car is under his name. He directs him to some place down on fifth Street, Garret Auto Center. Sounds legit enough, and Dad says he's been going there for years. _"It's reliable, they know what they're doing, and don't try to con you,"_  
  
So he goes. The sun is _blistering_ , middle of summer heat crisping his skin. He's wearing faded high waisted shorts, short enough you can see his pert ass peeking out, and a yellow crop top. Aviator shades slipping off his nose, leather bracelets chafing his wrists, and Vans. The bellybutton ring he'd convinced his Abuela to take him to get when he was sixteen glistens in the obnoxious heat.  
  
Yeah, Lance feels a little slutty. More _powerful_ , though, confident as he saunters around, feeling onlookers' eyes like a tangible presence. Lance is hot shit, _capital H_ , smokin and ready.  
  
He walks in the office, little sway to his hips, slides the shades down and off of his face so he can see in the artificially lit room.  
  
Someone sits behind the counter, in a tank top and board shorts, obnoxiously chewing bubblegum with their face shoved in a book. He can't tell gender, thinks that the eyes look feminine but everything else _screams_ male.  
  
They glance up at the sound of the bell jingling, apathetic honey eyes boring into him. A sigh. "do you have an appointment?"  
  
The voice conceals gender as well. It's cool, he gets it. Blurring gender roles is Lance's _specialty_ .  
  
"Ah, no. Sorry."  
  
They shrug, a bored lilt of their shoulders. "S fine. What'dya need?"  
  
Lance knows _nothing_ about cars. Dad tried to get him to learn when he was younger, made him sit next to him while he changed tires and shit. So the most Lance knows how to do is change a tire, or jumpstart his car.  
  
"Uhh, my car broke down? I'm not-- I don't know what's wrong with it."  
  
They bob their head, like this is normal. Maybe it is. Maybe half the people who come in here have no idea what they're doing, just like Lance.  
  
"So we'll schedule you for a consultation, then. Hunk is busy right now, but he should be done in a few minutes. Go have a seat,"  
  
They point to a small waiting room, if it can be called that. It's really just two foldable chairs situated in front of a fan.  
  
The room is musty, dust floating in the air. It's almost hotter than outside, which is unfortunate. Especially since Lance has to wait.  
  
The person behind the counter cackles at his expression. "Yeah, the AC is down, so sorry about that. It shouldn't be that long of a wait,"  
  
Lance crosses his legs when he sits, 'cause he's a classy hoe, _thank you very much_ . He squints to read the receptionist's nametag, which says "PIDGE" in blocky letters. _Okay then_ .  
  
He pulls out his phone and browses Instagram for a bit. His Abuela posted another selfie-- honestly she's such a queen. She's _obviously_ where Lance got all of his good looks. He comments in all caps, calling her a goddess.  
  
He watches a few makeup videos; those are always entertaining. Checks out a few memes. The latest one is kinda dumb but he chuckles to himself anyway.  
  
And then the backdoor opens, and in walks the man of Lance's dreams.  
  
Or, well, not really. _Don't get ahead of yourself, there._ He's cute as hell, though. Got warm brown skin, kinda of a flat nose but his eyes are a pretty hazel. _Dimples_ . He's big, taller than Lance and thick all around. Heavy, bulging muscles, but not outrageously so.  
  
He glances at Pidge, then at Lance. His gaze remains on Lance, eyes a bit wider than previous. "I take it you're my next appointment?"  
  
His voice is nice, sweet but kinda rough around the edges. He's got grease on his hands. _Yum_ .  
  
"That's me, yeah,"  
  
The guy gestures for him to follow. Lance hops up and tries his best to saunter behind him. But he's a bit giddy, so he kinda skips. _Whatever_ .  
  
He leads him into the shop, a big garage-like room. It smells heavily of oil and grease, concrete. Lance's car sits in the center, elevated by a jack.  
  
"I'm Hunk,"  
  
Lance jolts, glances over to see the mechanic, _Hunk_ , holding out his deliciously large hand. He shakes it, lightly, and smiles coquettishly. "The names Lance," he purrs out.  
  
Hunk kinda flushes, maybe, Lance can't tell-- his skin is too dark. But he makes a flustered face, so Lance assumes. "So, I take it you have no idea what's wrong with it?"  
  
He's talking about the car. _Right_ . Lance scratches behind his head sheepishly. "Not really, no."  
  
"That's alright, that's what I'm here for,"  
  
His reassurance makes Lance feel kinda tingly, assured that he's okay with Lance being ditzy.  
  
Hunk moves to pop the hood, and gets to work. "You can sit over there, if you want, or go back inside. Though, it's probably cooler out here."  
  
Lance laughs lightly and says "Yeah, I'll stay out here, if you don't mind."  
  
So he does, moving towards the chair Hunk gestured to. It's a fold up, like the ones inside. Seems that's all they have.  
  
He watches Hunk instead of pulling out his phone again. His focused face is _yummy_ , brows drawn as he tinkers under the hood. Wipes grease on his forehead, but it looks good. _Great_ , even. He looks really sexy dirty; a boy like him shouldn't be clean. He belongs covered in grease and dirt. Lance can picture it; Hunk, in nothing but torn shorts, hair slicked back, _glistening_ from water and oils, grime and filth coating his body and face. _Barbaric_ , swinging Lance around 'cause he's bigger. His hands are probably calloused, rough and strong, gripping at Lance's hips or throat.  
  
He can practically _taste_ the oil on his tongue, picturing Hunk slamming him against one of the cars, holding him up like it's nothing, rutting like an animal. Throbbing against him.  
  
_Jesus, calm down._  
  
Lance forces his head out of the gutter, mostly to avoid getting a stiffy. That would be embarrassing. But like, in a hot way. Maybe. The _shame_ , the excitement at getting caught, Hunk's deep voice in a drawl, _"What a slutty boy, getting hard in public,"_  
  
Right, so obviously none of this would ever happen, like, _ever_ . But it's fun to imagine.  
  
Lance sighs wistfully as Hunk crouches down, powerfully thick calves corded with muscle on showcase. He should be ashamed at the fact that he's openly ogling his mechanic, but he can't resist temptation. He's Adam, craving for the forbidden fruit, yearning a bite of the succulent apple, juicy, liquid dribbling down his chin in triumph.  
  
"So, I'm thinking it's the spark plugs,"  
  
"Huh?" Lance jolts from his fantasy, eyes refocusing on Hunk, who stands before him with an amused look on his face.  
  
"Your car. You need new spark plugs."  
  
"Oh. Is that, um, a good thing?"  
  
Hunk laughs, it's deep and rumbly, still kinda rough. His front tooth is crooked; instead of off-putting, Lance finds it endearing.  
  
"It's an easy fix, and not too expensive. I can take care of it right now, if you want, or tomorrow."  
  
_Decisions, decisions_ . On one hand, he can take care of it now, have a car to get him to class tomorrow. But on the _other_ hand, he can schedule another appointment, meaning he can see Hunk again.  
  
"Tomorrow should be fine, I'm not in much of a rush."  
  
_Lance, you fool. Now you have to take the city bus. Ugh. Why are you so thirsty?_  
  
"Alright, then. You can go set up an appointment with Pidge."  
  
"Right."  
  
Lance isn't moving. He _should_ be, but for some reason he remains stationary.  
  
"Oh, uh, I should probably get your number. So I can-- can call you, when your car is done. Or if you ever need help. Or something,"  
  
Oh sweet baby Jesus, is he _blushing_ ? And stuttering? Is this man even _real_ ?  
  
_Not now, gay thoughts._  
  
"Oh! Yeah, that's a good idea. Do you want me to leave it with Pidge on my way out?"  
  
"Yeah, actually, that works. So I guess I'll see you tomorrow?"  
  
Lance bites his lip and Hunk's earnest expression. How is it possible for someone to simultaneously be adorable and sexy all at once?  
  
"It's a date," Lance quips with a flirty grin. Hunk snorts, and waves Lance off. Lance pauses at the door, turning to see Hunks eyes trained on his backside. _Interesting_ .  
  
"Parting is such sweet sorrow," he jokes mournfully.  
  
Hunk raises his brow in amusement, eyes moving from his ass to his face. Lance feels butterflies tickling in his stomach, making him feel light.  
  
"I'm sure you'll survive, Romeo,"

* * *

Lance is _thrumming_ with excitement.  
  
He calls Allura, just to scream about the sexy mechanic. She laughs at his desire, calling him a hoe. He calls her a slut. They have an interesting friendship. Next, he calls up his Abuela. She tells him that he's too good for anyone-- let alone some mechanic, but says that he better send pics. He loves her to death.  
  
His dog, Dally-- a beautiful cocker spaniel, the light of his  life-- is witness to his improptu fashion show in an attempt to catch Hunks eye. He has to be mega sexy this time around. A crop top and shorts wouldn't do it.  
  
He decides on a pair of pumps, tie-dye shorts and a silver shawl with a pale green tube top underneath. This time he puts on sheer stocking, just to even out the color of his legs.  
  
He shaves every inch of his body, covers himself in shea butter, puts on makeup-- just some foundation, bit of highlight and contour, nude lips, and brows-- and spritz himself with enough rose water to drown a small child.  
  
He feels like he's trying _too_ much, but whatever.  
  
The appointment is after his morning lecture from seven to nine, Theater Analysis. The professor is a bit too lively for the time of morning, but it's fun. He feels kinda silly all dressed up this early for a lecture, but it's for Hunk, so he perseveres. If Lance is being _honest_ , he can't quite focus on what the professor is saying, too enraptured with the thought of seeing Hunk later.  
  
Taking the bus _sucks_ , especially since he gets hit on, like, twice by a group of really old ladies. He's still not sure if they're joking or not.  
  
And finally, he's back at Garrett Auto Center. Standing outside of the building, kinda nervous.

 

 _Breathe, Lance_ . _Don't freak out. Don't puke. Don't rip off your clothes._  
  
He walks in, accompanied by the bell jingling.  
  
Pidge is still behind the counter, this time in a green polo and round glasses. They're reading an even thicker book than before.  
  
"Hey, Lance. Hunk is waiting out back,"  
  
He takes a deep breath. "Thanks, Pidge," and walks to the back door. Hesitates. Stares at his hands, smooth an unmarked, nails painted a green to match his undershirt. Wraps his fingers around the knob and pulls.  
  
Hunk is standing next to the car, wiping his hands off on a rag. He has on a yellow bandana to push back his hair, showcasing his jawline and rugged features.  
  
His face lights up when he sees Lance. "Hey, Lance. How's it going?"  
  
_Man_ , Lance has it bad. He smiles back. "Pretty good. Just got back from a morning lecture, so that was brutal."  
  
"You're in college?"  
  
"Yeah, down at Garrison Academy."  
  
"No shit? What's your major?" Hunk looks kinda excited, actually interested in what Lance has to say.  
  
"Theater. Broadway is the end goal,"  
  
"Oh, man, that's sweet. I can't act for shit. I think I was in a school play when I was, like, six? And they casted me as a rock."  
  
Lance giggles with him. "Not even a tree? heartless bastards. You must've really been bad."  
  
He looks sheepish, but still playful. "Even then, I still managed to mess up my part. I tripped one of the actors on accident, and she fell off the stage."  
  
Lance is doubled over now; he can't help but laugh. "Oh man, that's _terrible_ ."  
  
The two laugh for a bit, and it feels good. _great,_ even. Talking to Hunk is surprisingly easy, almost like they've known each other for much longer than they have. It's addictive.  
  
"So, obviously your car is ready. I tested it out before you got here, and it's good to go."  
  
Lance glances at the car in question. "I can just, drive it out of here?"  
  
"yup." he pops the p sound.  
  
Yet again, Lance isn't moving. It's time to go, but he doesn't want to leave. He feels like he's tied to Hunk, like if he leaves the connection will sever and he'll never see him again.  
  
"Listen," Hunk starts, and Lance clings to his next words. "Would you like to, uh, go out with me? Sometime? On a-- a date?"

  
  
_Lance.exe has stopped responding._

Cue the windows start up sound. Reboot. Rejoin the land of the living.

  
"Oh my God, _yes_ . Please, lets-- let's go out."  
  
Hunk laughs at his earnest reaction, and Lance babbles. "I mean, I was _really_ hoping you were into dudes, because _wow_ . You're, wow. Just, I really like you,"  
  
" _I'm_ wow? You're like, a god. I feel so nervous talking to you, I just-- fuck, I'm glad. That you, y'know, wanna go out."  
  
Lance is grinning so hard his face hurts. Really, honest to God. He feels like he won the lotto, like he's walking on sunshine. Like everything has clicked into place.  
  
"So, call me?" Lance forces himself to say, because he can barely _speak_ with Hunk looking all flustered and cute and fuck, Lance _really_ likes him.  
  
Hunk has the cutest dimples when he smiles. "Yeah, I'll definitely call,"

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> hmu bc im an attention whore who craves validation:   
> [tumblr](https://smelly-milk.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/smellymilky?lang=en)


End file.
